


The Pacifica Project

by Sarcasticles



Category: One Piece
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-typical world government shittiness, Cyborgs, Gen, Time skip shenanigans, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29030109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcasticles/pseuds/Sarcasticles
Summary: With Kuma’s transformation now complete, the World Government has decided it’s time to get rid of some loose ends. Terrified scientists claiming to hold the knowledge that can bring him back beg for the Revolutionary Army’s protection, while hidden on a faraway island one of their failed experiments wishes they could share his fate.Sabo, Koala, and Robin know there’s little hope of reclaiming Kuma’s humanity. But little is not the same as none, and they quickly realize there’s much more at stake than the fate of just one man. Powerful factions have taken an interest in the Pacifica Project, and it’s up to them to keep the the Government’s newest super weapon from falling into the hands of those who would use it to destroying the world
Comments: 12
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It’s the second time this week the scientists have me strapped to the table. They use metal clamps to hold me still because they’re not sure there’s enough of me left for the drugs to work. Any stimulation to my artificial nerves might cause something to contract that’s not supposed to, adding untold difficulty to procedure they’re conducting. I don’t even know what it is this time around, and after a thousand procedures just like it, I don’t really care.
> 
> They say it doesn’t matter if they use the drugs or not. All their data and research and scientific models say I won’t feel a thing. They made sure to take care of that a long time ago.
> 
> They’re wrong. Always, always wrong.
> 
> I don’t know how much longer this will last. Rumors say the weapon is almost complete, but I’m not sure they will be satisfied with just complete. They’re obsessed with perfection. I can see the madness in their eyes when they look at me. 
> 
> I just wait for the day when they cut out the part of me that makes me human. Maybe then then the pain will go away.

It was a light, breezy day on Baltego. Warm without being hot, a steady stream of fresh sea air kept the humidity at a manageable level, sunlight streaming through a bright, cloudless sky. It was the perfect day to lay on the white sand beaches with a book in hand. 

At that moment Robin had no books, although she had plenty of hands to spare. Blinking sweat from her eyes, she crossed her arms in front of her and waited for Koala to strike. The girl wore a grin that indicated she was having entirely too much fun dancing circles around her opponent, using her skill in Fishman Karate to augment her already-impressive physical abilities. 

“You’re not half-bad for an old lady, but you’re starting to look a little shaky. You sure you don’t need a break?” Koala called.

Robin grit her teeth and let the jab at her age slide over her. When they were finished she would find the person who told Koala that she was days away from her twenty-ninth birthday and strangle them. Until then, she had to concentrate on the matter at hand. 

Unfortunately for her, Koala’s assessment was correct. Robin _was_ shaky. Koala always insisted that they spar on the beaches, where pushing through the white sands slowed her movements and sapped her endurance. The closeness to the water played into Koala’s strengths and amplified Robin’s weaknesses. It wasn’t often Robin was forced to fight at a disadvantage...or even exert herself to defeat her enemies...and she was twenty years overdue learning how to do so.

 _You mean twenty-one_ , her mind supplied unhelpfully. 

Koala sensed that she was distracted and started to move. Belatedly, Robin sent arms after her, but she was nowhere near fast enough. Before Robin realized what was happening, Koala was running along the tideline at full speed. When the next wave came in she scooped up a handful of water, and without breaking stride shot it at Robin’s face.

Robin moved just enough to aviod the bullet of water. Koala laughed, dodging arms while dancing inland, bridging the distance between them in seconds. 

For all Robin’s skills and abilities, hand to hand combat was not her forte. If Koala got close the fight was as good as over, but she was simply too fast to catch or trip, and the beaches of Baltego were bereft of any obstacles Robin might put between them.

If that was the case, she would simply have to make her own. 

Closing her eyes, Robin called on her Devil Fruit. “ _Mil Fleur."_

Hundreds of hands sprouted in front of Robin, a wall of flesh and bone twisting together into a solid mass that was...Robin. She could feel the phantom arms just as well as the two attached to her body, and for a split second the sensory input was overwhelming. Robin forced the feeling away, concentrating on the writhing mass of limbs as an individual unit rather than a thousand separate parts. 

The arms coalesced into a single whole. Robin smiled as Koala skidded to a stop under the shadow of her massive, disembodied hand. The girl’s grin was gone, replaced with a look of wide-eyed wonder. 

“Well crap,” she whispered. 

Robin’s smile grew. “ _Smash ._ ”

* * *

“You’re definitely getting faster,” Koala said. The poor girl was still trying to brush the sand out of her clothes nearly an hour after they finished their spar, but otherwise was no worse for wear. “But you're still closing your eyes too much when using your power.”

“The progress of the student is a credit to the teacher,” Robin said, quoting a line the professor had often used on her as a child. Koala blushed, ducking her head so Robin couldn’t see. “And closing my eyes helps me focus.”

“I’m just worried someone is going to pull a fast one on you when you’re not looking.”

“I’ll try not to let that happen.”

They sat silently for a moment, watching the waves. Of course Robin wouldn’t have to worry about keeping her eyes open if she had Observation Haki, but that was a power that remained frustratingly out of reach. Koala thought that perhaps she relied too much on her physical senses, multiplied many times over with the use of her Devil Fruit, to access the part of her that would be able to sense the world without them. It was as good a theory as any, but Robin was reluctant to deprive herself of her power long enough to prove it one way or the other. Not when there were aspects of her Devil Fruit that still needed mastering.

It was an odd thing, trying to get stronger. For every little bit that she improved, Robin more adequately felt all the ways in which she was deficient. 

“You’ll have to worry about not hurting yourself, too,” Koala mused. “You said damage to the copies rebout to your real body?”

“Yes,” Robin said. 

“So having a thousand hands out at once is a thousand chances of you hurting yourself.”

“More or less.”

Koala sighed dramatically and flopped backward on the beach. “The more I learn about Devil Fruits, the more I’m glad I’ve got Fishman Karate. Don’t you miss swimming?”

“I wouldn’t know. I was...quite young when I ate my Devil Fruit,” Robin said, laughing quietly.

_Get out! And don’t you dare come back until I call, you ungrateful brat!_

The echo of her aunt’s voice left a bitter taste in her mouth that had nothing to do with the foulness of the fruit she’d eaten that day. Over two decades had passed since then, but the memory of picking up that strange, swirling fruit still stood out in her mind as sharp and unpleasant as a thumbtack. Robin could still feel the gnawing hunger in her belly, the fear of being locked out of the house by her aunt, the burning shame of ostracization from the village. The weight of her own unworthiness sent her running for the wood instead of the Tree of Knowledge, and when she came across the fruit, hungry and alone, well...was it any wonder she’d taken a bite? 

“I am so sorry for your loss,” Koala teased as she stretched to her feet. She flicked a grain of sand off of her arm. “I should probably get back to the office anyway and see what paperwork Sabo’s put off so far today. Meet again on Friday? Same time? I’ll bring you a cupcake for your birthday.”

Robin agreed, and together they walked back to Revolutionary Headquarters, chatting over their plans for the rest of the day. Robin was content to let Koala carry the bulk of the conversation, her thoughts drifting elsewhere. The memory of eating her Devil Fruit and her looming birthday had stirred up a part of her childhood that she didn’t like to think about. But some doors, once open, were very difficult to close, and Robin found herself dwelling on the past.

The Revolutionaries stopped what they were doing to stare as they passed, Robin’s ears hearing ripples of _Light of the Revolution, Nico Robin,_ and _Survivor of Ohara._ She’d endured two decades of persecution not knowing that an entire organization of freedom fighters looked to her as their beacon of hope. Here, the destruction of Ohara was a rallying call, the men and women who died martyrs to the cause of freedom. 

Robin wondered what her aunt would have thought of that.

They had just entered the headquarters proper when there was a cry of alarm. Both Robin and Koala tensed as Sabo came screaming around a corner. He was going too fast to come to a stop, and without thinking Robin sent out a net of arms to catch him. 

“Thanks!” he said. Craning his head backward, he called out behind him, “And sorry! Didn’t see you there, Joe!”

The Revolutionary bent down to gather his scattered paperwork. “Then watch where you’re going!”

Sabo only laughed. Without really thinking, Robin sent a wave of hands to help clear the mess.

“No harm, no foul,” Sabo said blithely before grabbing both Robin and Koala by the arm and dragging them to a secluded corner, Koala yelling apologies in their wake as they pushed through Revolutionary headquarters. 

The moment Sabo decided they were sufficiently alone he released them both, whirling to face them with a look of ardent fervor. “Where have you guys been? I’ve been searching for you everywhere.”

Robin arched an eyebrow. The nature of her agreement with Dragon meant she saw a great deal of the Revolution’s Chief of Staff, but their interests didn’t align enough for them to interact in a professional capacity. So while Sabo would often ask about his adoptive brother and was ravenous for any stories he could pry from Robin’s mind, they had yet to work with one another for the sake of the Revolution.

“I’m serious. I need your help,” Sabo insisted. “We’ve finally found a lead!”

“A lead on what?” Koala asked. 

“On the Pacifica Project!”

Robin looked down at Koala for explanation, but she seemed just as confused. “What do you mean? We know all about the Pacificas because of...because of Kuma. We’re still getting intel from the scientists he was able to infiltrate into the marine’s R&D department.”

“Yeah, and one of those guys found a lead,” Sabo said. With a burst of excited energy he picked Koala up off the ground and twirled her in a circle. “They think there’s a way to undo it. There’s a chance we can help get Kuma’s humanity back!”

“What? _How?_ ”

Sabo set Koala back on the ground, his eyes burning with an almost frightening passion. “One of the top marine scientists got himself fired. Apparently he’s been ruffling feathers for a while, and now that the Government has their robot army they decided he wasn’t worth the trouble. He ended up taking a couple other dissatisfied employees with him. One of our guys made initial contact, and he wants a meeting as soon as possible. They say he worked with Vegapunk himself; if there’s anyone who knows about Kuma, it’ll be him.”

“That’s...a lot to take in,” Koala said, a note of skepticism in her voice as she adjusted her cap. “You’re going to go meet him? For all you know it could be a trap.”

“That’s why I’m taking you to back me up,” Sabo said, beaming at his own brilliance. “And you too, Robin. It sounds like he’s scared and willing to cooperate, and we might need your ability. You know how the Government feels about loose ends.”

“I don’t know, Sabo. This sounds amazingly sketchy,” Koala said. “Do we even know who these people are?”

“I have names, but not much else,” Sabo admitted. “They came from one of the Government’s outsourced labs, not Mariejois. We don’t have much intel from those facilities.”

His answer did little to assuage Koala’s doubt. “I don’t like it. We need more information.”

“I’m not sure we have _time_ for more information,” Sabo retorted. The two of them fell silent. Glaring at one another, they seemed to hold an entire conversation without words. After a few tense seconds that seemed to stretch into eternity, they turned as one toward Robin, waiting for her opinion.

She crossed her arms in front of her as she mulled over the information. “What does Dragon say?”

There was another beat of silence, Sabo’s confident fasade cracking for just a moment. Koala was immediately furious. 

“You didn’t tell him,” she said, puncturing the accusation with a punch that made Sabo stumble back. “You weren’t _planning_ on telling him!”

“Boss is out on business! There’s no way to get a message through,” Sabo said. He held up a finger as Koala opened her mouth to argue, dancing nimbly out of the way of another strike. “Just listen to me. Boss trusts us enough to make our own decisions. This is important.”

“You’re going to risk your life and mine, not to mention the life of one of your brother’s crew— who by the way is _in hiding from the World Government_ —on the one in a million chance that we can get Kuma back?” Koala asked.

In that moment, Robin could see the brotherly resemblance. Blood related or not, there was no mistaking that stubborn set to Sabo’s jaw.

“Yeah, I am.”

To Robin’s surprise, Koala’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. She blinked them away before throwing an angry look at Sabo that was fueled by hurt. When she spoke again her voice was hard as ice.

“We knew...No, _Kuma_ knew what he was getting himself into,” Koala said. “He knew there was no coming back and made that sacrifice willingly. He’s gone, Sabo. No amount of wishful thinking will change that, and we can’t afford to waste time and resources on a wild goose chase. He wouldn’t want...he wouldn’t want us getting our hopes up for nothing.”

“But what if he isn’t?” Sabo challenged, jutting his chin just a little bit farther. “Would you be able to live with yourself if you didn’t try?” He strode past Koala and Robin, the brim of his top hat low over his eyes. 

“I know the odds, but I’m not going to let someone else I care for die without a fight.”

They watched as he strode through the doors of the hideout. Koala could only manage her indignant front for a moment before deflating like a lead balloon. With her normal vivacity it was easy to forget sometimes how small she really was, and Robin put a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“He didn’t even pack any bags,” Koala complained. “What’s he planning to do, _swim_ to wherever the hell he’s going?”

“An unwise choice, even for someone who’s not a Devil Fruit user.”

Koala let out an unladylike snort. “Serves him right.” Then her shoulders slumped, and she scrubbed her face with her hands. “Might have to put a raincheck on that cupcake. I need to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

Robin raised an eyebrow. 

“ _M_ _ore_ stupid, anyway,” Koala said. 

“I believe I’ll accompany you,” Robin said. “Sabo _did_ say I was invited.” 

“You will?”

A smile tugged at her lips. From what little she understood, Robin doubted that anything of the original Kuma remained, but if there was anything her captain had taught her it was that sometimes it was worth chasing the impossible. 

Besides, past interactions with the former Warlord left her with some questions of her own. 

“I will.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That day can’t come soon enough. I don’t know why, but it’s getting harder and harder to rest at night. Maybe they took the part of me that needs sleep, or maybe the promise of the end has made me stay up thinking about how it all started. How I became a part of the Pacifica Project.
> 
> I don’t remember much about those first surgeries, or the recovery after. All I recall is a quiet voice telling me not to be afraid, that all would soon be right. The promise was followed by a single cut, and then blessed darkness. 
> 
> Every day I wish that I had not woken up to find it had all been a lie.

It took them a week to sail to Cyn Island. They lost over a day of travel to a ferocious storm and were barely able to limp into port with ship and crew intact. It was impossible to say how severe the damage was without docking, and Robin sensed an uneasiness among the Revolutionaries that accompanied them. Sabo’s optimism, however, was not to be deterred. 

“If we need to leave before it’s fixed, we’ll just steal a different one,” he said. “Ooh, is that guy selling takoyaki? I’m gonna go get some.”

“Leave him,” Koala said exasperatidly to Robin as he bounded off into the city. “He has a baby den-den mushi if he gets into trouble. Barring that, we’ll just follow the nearest explosion when we need to find him again.”

While Koala worked on arranging repairs for their ship, Robin took inventory of the island. Cyn was a small island with only one true city to its name, but what it lacked in size it more than made up for with people. The streets were crammed with men and women of every social strata pushed shoulder to shoulder, scurrying like ants about their business. 

Even from the docks Robin could see the city was going through the growing pains of a place whose population had exploded faster than its infrastructure could keep up with. Old-fashioned gas lanterns lined cobblestone roads while skyscrapers filled the skyline like a forest of steel and glass. Crumbling brick warehouses stood next to hypermodern factories that spewed pillars of noxious black smoke into the air. Carts forced themselves down roads almost too narrow for their wares, while a trolly rumbled past on iron tracks.

It was dirty and chaotic, a melting pot of old and new that resulted in a truly unique sense of style and culture that Robin itched to dive into. One day, when she was not focused on business, she might return just to explore, but today she constrained herself to the matter at hand. Cyn was built on a steep incline, and Robin allowed her eyes to wander upward where off in the distance, perched like a crowning jewel at the center of the city, was the glass dome that marked the island’s research center.  _ It  _ was the reason for the city’s recent growth, money and resources pouring in from the World Government in exchange for weapons of mass destruction. 

Of course that last fact wasn’t widely known by the public. In fact, the Revolution had only recently learned it themselves. The World Government kept their most precious resources near Mariejois, heavily guarded by high ranking marines and other military personnel, but the military industrial complex was too big, too sprawling, to be contained in any one location. 

Cities like Cyn existed all over the world, contributing part and parcel to propping up the power of the World Government through military might. Some islands built ships, others manufactured rifles, a few concerned themselves strictly with research. 

And Cyn...Cyn made cyborgs. 

Robin felt Koala coming up behind her, faithful as a shadow. “What do you think?” she asked. 

“I think you should find Sabo before he makes a scene. It wouldn’t do for the Government to realize we’re here,” Robin said.

“I notice you didn’t include yourself with that task,” Koala said, pulling a face. 

“I’m going to do a little exploring of my own. Don’t worry,” she reassured the younger girl. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Meet me at the takoyaki shop at three?”

Koala agreed, and the two went their separate ways. Robin wandered the busy streets until she found a little hole in the wall diner that smelled strongly of bacon grease and coffee. The morning rush was over and she found a seat at the counter without any difficulty. A waitress with bleached blonde hair and a habit of chewing gum with her mouth open took her order before settling down to chat. 

Robin’s coffee smelled like motor oil and didn’t taste much better. She drank it anyway, and nibbled on a stale scone as she  _ listened.  _ Sprouted ears picked up petty squabbles in the kitchen and eavesdropped on the murmured conversation by the two other customers in the diner, a pair of gentlemen in shabby suits discussing business of questionable legality. 

There was nothing of great importance. No rumors about Government scientists or rogue robots, although the gentlemen did complain about the growing marine presence on the island. Robin tucked that tidbit away for safekeeping and turned her full attention back to the waitress, who had taken pity on an obvious outsider and taken it upon herself to explain the trolly system that ran all throughout the city. 

“It’s handy once you get used to it,” she said, “but you gotta make sure you know your stop, ya know? Once I wasn’t paying any attention and I ended up all the way down to the Scrapyard. It’s a real bad neighborhood,” she explained before Robin could ask. “Lotta scary stuff goes on down that way. Ain’t that right, Dave?”

“No place for a lady, that’s for sure,” one of the suits said, before dousing his cigarette in an overfull tray.

“Do any of the lines take you to that big building at the top of the hill?” Robin asked, spinning a spoon in her mug as she thought. “It looks so beautiful from down here, with all that glass. I’ve never seen anything like it before in my life.”

It technically wasn’t a lie. The research dome certainly made a striking vista, but there was something about its design—or perhaps just the knowledge of its purpose—that made it unsightly in Robin’s eyes. But to the waitress, she was simply a wide-eyed newcomer, and she shook her head sympathetically. 

“Sorry, hon. There’s no way to get anywhere near there these days. Used to be able to visit—they took my kids there once as a school trip, to see the scientists, ya know?—but that was before the Government took the place over. God only knows what they’re doin’ up there now.”

Robin’s eyes saw the two men share a dark look, but neither felt the need to add to the waitress’s assessment. 

Rising smoothly to her feet, Robin said, “You’ve been very helpful, thank you.” She handed the waitress a few bills. “Keep the change.”

The woman smacked her lips together, her wad of gum bulging in her cheek. “Come back anytime.”

* * *

As it turned out, the Scrapyard was named much more literally than Robin ever would have guessed. Situated on the very outskirts of the city, it was less a neighborhood and more dumping ground for the refuse and detritus of the Government’s failed experiments. Born after a massive fire tore through an old industrial sector, there was something about it that reminded her of the Grey Terminal from Sabo’s stories, or the ship’s graveyard she’d seen at Water 7. It was where Cyn threw the things and people it no longer wanted to deal with, kept safely away from those whose sensibilities were offended by the sight of a little trash. 

Houses were made of scrap iron and thatched together with metal wire, repurposed gears and gadgets and everything in between used for windows, doorknobs, or simple decoration. Dull sheets of metal reflected the late morning sun, and even from the trolly Robin felt the insufferable heat. Many of the makeshift shelters had been deliberately buffeted to lessen the harsh glare, but there was just so  _ much _ that it was a losing battle. Everywhere Robin looked she saw steel grey and the red-orange of rust and decay.

There were a scattering of proper buildings, at least in the areas settled nearer the more respectable parts of the city, but they were mostly derelict, worn brick stained black with soot and grime, most likely the skeletal remains of abandoned factories. They lined twisting, narrow streets, with frequent gaps where a building had been destroyed or demolished sticking out like missing teeth in a crooked smile. Piles of metal filled the empty spaces, junkyards in miniature, each one cordoned off and guarded jealously by thugs wielding makeshift weapons.

Robin got off of the trolly and leaned against a tall wooden pole sprouting dozens of electrical wires, crisscrossing and zigzagging all over the neighborhood, drinking in the sights and sensations. A few streets down a girl of about fifteen balanced on a rickety looking ladder, doing some sort of work on the wire leading to her apartment, the purpose of which was beyond Robin’s understanding. 

When the weather had permitted it, Robin spent her journey to Cyn studying a map of the island, along with what little intelligence the Revolutionary Army managed to gather on it, focusing on the scientists who worked at the Government’s facilities. 

Their spies had identified three of these scientists who had defected from the Pacifica Project. These were the ones Sabo was to meet, in secret and under the cover of darkness. A neighborhood like the Scrapyard wasn’t a place that could be accurately mapped by any official source, but Robin knew the general location of their rendezvous point. Calling up a picture of the city streets in her mind’s eye, she ambled purposefully in that direction. 

She sent her eyes and ears ahead of her, searching for any murmurings that would indicate a trap or betrayal. Blindly she searched for hidden pockets of marines, for the dark suits of Cipher Pol, for any little piece or person that didn’t seem to belong. 

Robin was too unfamiliar with the Scrapyard to be thorough. When living in Alabasta she had made a point of knowing the names and faces of as many of Crocodile’s employees as possible, from the ever-dangerous Mr. 1 to the lowly janitor responsible for scrubbing toilets in his casino. She spent four years memorizing people and their patterns everywhere she went, knowing from experience that some innocuous deviation from the norm was likely to be the first sign of Crocodile’s inevitable betrayal. 

There was no time for that now. A proper operation would involve weeks, if not months, of intelligence gathering and planning, but Sabo had a very real worry of the Government finding the defected scientists before they had a chance of making contact. 

But that didn’t mean they had to go in completely blind. Robin’s ability enabled her to gather information at an incredible rate. She soon realized that the various toughs guarding the miniature junkyards belonged to various local gangs, who would hoard the Government’s discarded scraps, strip them of their valuable metals, and sell what was left to the highest bidder. 

Such a treasure was to be zealously guarded, and Robin marked half a dozen lookouts during her short walk, each one a potential witness should their meeting that night go awry. To their benefit, the streets and alleys of the Scrapyard were just as crowded as the bustling main streets of the city proper. It would be easy to disappear into the masses—or for the Government to plant lookouts of their own. 

There were more beggars, perhaps, and more obvious signs of dereliction and despair. But Robin couldn’t help but notice there were also dozens of little displays of human ingenuity. Piles of junk had been transformed into a system for collecting rainwater, a rumbling motor ran a giant outdoor laundry and clothes press, an artisan twisted pieces of wire into shapes and pictures, much to the delight of a group of ragged children. 

An old captain of Robin’s had once told her that people were like cockroaches: They could thrive anywhere, and once properly established were almost impossible to snuff out. He’d been referring, to her disgust at the time, to the perseverance of his own crew, which ironically had not survived more than a week after his arrogant declaration. 

It was only as the years passed onward that Robin was forced to admit that there was a grain of truth to the statement. There was nothing pleasant about the Scrapyard. She was pressed on all sides by the evidence of poverty and neglect. Gutters ran over with refuse, the crooked streets were piled with jagged edges of metal, with the people who watched over them just as sharp. Everywhere Robin looked, she was met with the instinctual wariness and distrust of a stranger.

And yet, the people lived on, despite their circumstance. They refused to be snuffed out, and like an infestation in the heart of a heap of trash, some had even dared to thrive. 

There was something noble in that, Robin thought, and it gave her hope that the Revolution’s mission would end well. 

That thought has scarcely made it from one end of her brain to the other when she found herself standing in front of one of the most dilapidated of all the gutted factories, marked by an enormous makeshift antenna that had been constructed on the flat roof. The Scrapyard was on one of the lowest parts of the island, and to compensate the antenna was built to be almost taller than the building it sat on. Robin was no engineer, but it seemed to her that there was no way that the rusty, crumbling mess was actually functional. But on the off-chance it was, it would be the perfect means of sending and receiving information to the World Government. 

Robin’s unease returned, stronger than ever. She approached the entrance, careful to make sure no one was watching. The people paid her no mind, or pretended that they didn’t, and the only surveillance snail she saw was fast asleep. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Robin closed her eyes and called upon her power. 

The factory had been converted into an apartment complex, and the entrance was locked. With Robin’s power it would have been easy to open from the inside, but for now she contented herself with a sweeping assessment with her eyes only. Without knowing the exact layout it was slow going, blindly searching for surfaces to sprout body parts in the dim light. 

But eventually she found what she was looking for. At the very end of her reach, situated at the top back corner of the complex, was an apartment that fit the description of what she was looking for. Robin slunk away from the entrance of the building, scanning the outside facade for anyone who might be watching, before settling into a more inconspicuous nook. 

It seemed impossible, but the room within was filthier than the streets without. Dark and dingy, the room’s one window was barred and painted, the only light coming from a single bare bulb dangling naked from the ceiling. The furniture consisted of a threadbare couch, a three-legged chair, and a few upturned cartons to serve as a table. The tiny space was made to seem even tinier by lines of empty beer bottles littering almost every available surface. Heaps of trash piled up in the corners, encroaching inward like an advancing army. Even without sprouting a nose, Robin could smell the sickly stench of molded food intermixed with the sour odor of human sweat.

It hardly seemed habitable for one person, but there were  _ four _ crammed into the tiny space. A woman of about sixty years of age paced angrily from pile of garbage to the next. Greying hair was pulled back with a no-nonsense clip, and the glare behind a pair of oval, wireframes spectacles was sharp and uncompromising. Her clothes were rumpled but clean, and when Robin added an ear to her eyes, she overheard her address her three companions. 

“The meeting is just hours away, Jules! Why aren’t you ready?”

She paused her pacing to stare balefully at the man languishing on the couch. He was much younger than the woman, with a patchy beard and a receding hairline, and had none of the woman’s fervor. He responded to the question by yawning enormously and scratching at the pot belly that emerged from a faded shirt like a blinking eye. Reaching for one of the many bottles only to find it empty, he sighed. 

“I have nothing to do with your little get together with those Revolutionary crazies. If you don’t like it, you can find somewhere else to hide from the Science Corps.”

The woman stiffened, and a second man stepped in beside her, intertwining a hand around hers and giving it an assuring squeeze. He was scarecrow thin, and there was an air of grim superiority about him as he looked down a long beak of a nose that was heightened by an immaculately maintained, bushy black mustache and goatee. Unfortunately, the hair on his head had not aged so gracefully. The thin white strands that remained were slicked back over a growing bald spot in a most unflattering manner. 

“If we fall, you’re going with us,” he said before turning toward the woman that was almost certainly his wife. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll make sure all is made ready before tonight.”

“There’s no reason to threaten  _ me,  _ Ian” Jules groused. “It’s Viktor that got you into this mess.”

The third man, situated on the three-legged chair, twitched. Despite the terrible lighting he wore dark glasses indoors, his frame hidden beneath a long trench coat. More nervous gestures caused his seat to wobble, and he stood up suddenly to huddle one of the dingy corners of the apartment, his manner and appearance vaguely batlike.

“This isn’t my fault,” Viktor hissed. “You know just as well as I that they were looking for an excuse to get rid of us, I was merely trying to stay ahead of the curve.”

“And whose fault was it that they were looking for an excuse, hmn?” Jules asked. “What rabbit holes did you start looking down that caught the attention of Vegapunk and his cronies? All the brains in the world couldn’t stop you from your own idiocy, could it? And you’ve dragged us all down with you.”

“As much as I would love to hear you all bicker,” the woman interjected, “we have bigger problems at hand, namely the Revolutionary Army,” She picked up a beer bottle with her thumb and forefinger, holding it away from her body as if it were diseased. “Impressions  _ matter _ .”

“If you want to risk being seen taking out the trash, be my guest,” Jules said, yawning. He stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes. “If they’re even coming.”

“They are,” the woman insisted. She convinced no one, not even herself. “They were merely delayed by the weather.”

“There are others out there who can give us what we want,” Viktor said quietly. There was an edge to his tone that could not be hidden by his soft-spokenness, an intensity that Robin didn’t trust. “It would be stupid to put all our eggs in one basket.”

“I don’t care,” Jules said. “Whatever gets you to  _ go away _ . Since you lot showed up at my door, my life has been a  _ nightmare _ .”

The woman swelled like an enraged bullfrog, but before she could say anything more, Ian took the bottle from her hands. “Remember, Theresa, the walls are thin.” He looked up, staring almost directly where one of Robin’s eyes was hidden in the shadows. 

“You never know who could be listening.”

* * *

“They sound scared. Scared people do stupid things.”

Robin hummed her agreement as she nursed her coffee. On the other side of the table, Sabo and Koala shared a worried look. “I don’t like that line about putting their eggs in different baskets,” Koala said. “Who else could they have reached out to besides us?”

“Seems like something Joker would be interested in, but really it could be anyone,” Sabo said between bites of takoyaki. 

They kept their voices low, while Robin’s eyes watched for anyone who might seem a little too interested in their conversation. Since that morning, she  _ had  _ noticed an unusual number of marines roaming about, but they seemed relaxed and unconcerned, and their presence didn’t extend into the Scrapyard. 

“I got in contact with one of our friends and asked what the deal is with this Jules guy, and they said he left the Science Corps ages ago. That makes it hard to ask questions without arousing suspicion, but as far as we can tell he’s got nothing to do with the other three. And get this, they didn’t defect. They were _fired._ ”

Robin swirled her cup, looking down into its depths as if it held the answers that she was looking for. “Did your friend say why?”

“Actually, yes,” Koala said. “Seems like the husband and wife team were the project managers over that guy Viktor, and he had a few off the book projects that they either didn’t know about or were turning a blind eye to. Either way, it was a bad look, and once the big bosses found out they were all canned.”

“What did you think about them?” Sabo asked. “Did they seem like decent people caught up in a mess, or am I going to have to be  _ stern? _ ”

A wicked-sharp grin spread under the shadow of his hat at the thought. Robin knew he had little enough respect for Government employees on the best of days, but these scientists, wittingly or not, were partly responsible for the dismantling of Kuma’s soul. Robin shifted her gaze back to the streets of Cyn, the streets clogged to choking with men and women rushing to get home after a long day’s work. 

Four scientists, trapped in a tiny, filthy room unfit for the rats that nested there. The circumstances were terrible enough to arouse a spark of pity in Robin, and their bickering and backbiting hinted at a deeper undercurrent of animosity within the group that would make the simple act of living an exercise of bitterest misery. 

How long had they been stuck like that, terrified to leave lest they be found out by the Government? And how slow that time must have seemed, stretched and distorted by fear and hunger.

But enduring terrible living conditions did not make them  _ decent people _ , any more than the fact that they were Government scientists automatically made them bad. Robin smiled wanly at the impossibility of Sabo’s question. 

“I think they’re standing on a knife’s edge. It’s impossible to say what direction they'll fall if pushed.” Robin finished her drink and turned her attention back to her two young partners. “They’re a group of brilliant minds who until recently had been working in the pinnacle of their field. They’ve had everything taken from them: Their homes, their futures, their pride...I think massaging their egos will go a long way to endearing them to our cause.”

Sabo crinkled his nose in distaste, while Koala nodded thoughtfully. “Make them think we need them. Which, I guess, we do.” She looked sidelong at Sabo. “I should probably do the talking.”

“And what, I’m just supposed to stand in the background and look cute?” Sabo said, arching an eyebrow. 

“That, and also remind them who  _ we  _ are if they decide to get uppity,” Koala agreed brightly. She leaned into him, eyes twinkling despite the seriousness of their situation. “Although I will admit you’re pretty cute when you scowl.”

“I am not!”

“Yep, just like that,” Koala said, laughing as Sabo pushed her off of him in mock affront. 

For the briefest moment the weight of their mission was lifted, and Robin almost felt like she was with the Straw Hat Pirates again. She didn’t know where the rest of her crew had been taken, but she was glad Kuma had sent her  _ here,  _ fighting for the same cause Ohara died for.

Robin wasn’t sure there was any way of bringing Kuma back, but if there was, she would like to be able to thank him properly, and in person. 

All she could do was wait for dark to fall, and hope to have the answer before the night was through.

* * *

Once night fell, Robin, Sabo, and Koala returned to the Scrapyard. Robin’s concerns about being seen were made moot by the obliging of Mother Nature. Once the sun dipped below the horizon, they were reminded that it was still winter on a spring island. The air was damp and cold, the moon and stars blotted out by the smoke rising from a thousand coke fireplaces while a mist rolled inland from the sea. The gas lights that framed the narrow streets scarcely pierced the haze, and anyone watching would have a hard time seeing past the end of their nose.

Even Robin’s vision was nearly useless, her eyes seeing little other than the indistinct shadows of the things that went bump in the night. She led them by the strength of her memory, the landmarks she’d passed earlier that day smothered under a blanket of fog. 

Finally they reached the apartment and its jutting antena. Robin put a finger to her lips for silence and listened for the sound of a trap or trouble. The gesture was completely unnecessary, both Sabo and Koala moving as silent as wraiths in the darkness. For all their jokes and lighthearted banter, they wanted this mission to be a success more than Robin ever could or would.

Hearing nothing amiss, Robin called an arm to open the complex from the inside. The door swung open with a rusty creak, and pausing only to tip his hat in wordless thanks, Sabo quickly entered, followed closely by Koala. 

Since she was technically in hiding, it had been decided that Robin would not be physically present for any of the interactions with the ex-Government scientists. Instead she found a half-rusted fire escape and climbed upward until she was as close to the barred, painted over window of the apartment as possible. Closing her eyes, she looked into the room just in time to hear Sabo knock at their door. 

In the intervening hours, room had been made to look less like a dumping ground of hazardous waste, mostly by clearing empty bottles and rearranging the piles of garbage in a way that was more aesthetically pleasing. The four scientists huddled near the center of the room, and at the sound of the knock Theresa flinched. 

“It’s them.”

The pronouncement fell, heavy and ominous. She turned to her husband, who turned to Jules, who yawned and turned back to the book he had been reading. Clearing his throat, Ian said, “Viktor, the door. If you would be so kind.”

Viktor shoved his hands in the pockets of his trench coat, and wandered to the darkest corner of the room to skulk. 

“Oh for God’s sake— _ I’ll _ get it,” Theresa said disdainfully, voice quavering only a little. She threw a look at Viktor, leaving the  _ coward _ unsaid but clearly implied. When she reached the door she paused, her face pale and gleaning with sweat.

“If you didn’t want them to come, you shouldn’t have invited them to my house,” Jules said, not looking up from his book. His words slurred slightly, his eyes glassy and unfocused on the fact it was upside down.

White cheeks flushed red, but it was enough for Theresa to undo the chain and deadbolt and let the Revolutionaries inside. 

“Good evening,” Koala said calmly once they were settled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

Four pairs of eyes flickered from Koala, to Sabo, and back again. Sabo took advantage of the silence to shut the door behind him. The brim of his hat threw dark shadows under his eyes, and he made a point of adjusting his gloves as menacingly as possible before falling in a watchful stance behind Koala. His grim, imposing presence made Koala’s easy smile seem almost sinister. 

It was a message, clearly sent. The Revolution was in control here. Robin watched the scientists’ reactions closely, noting how Ian wilted under their intensity and Viktor bristled instinctively against it. Only Theresa managed to maintain her mein of cool composure, and of course Jules continued to stare blankly at his upside down book. 

“Well, I won’t insult you by beating around the bush,” Koala said cheerfully. “You’ve already been in contact with our people, you know why we’re here and where we stand. The Revolution is willing to offer you protection, but we expect your full cooperation in return. Of course we can’t force you to go against your conscience, just as we have convictions we struggle to uphold. So if you have any problem with lending your knowledge and expertise to the Revolution, just say so now and we can leave in peace.”

“Don’t pretend we have a choice in this,” Theresa said. “If the Government finds us, we’re dead. I’ll tell you whatever you want, as long as you get us out of this hellhole.”

Sabo took off his hat, making sure she got a good look at the ragged scar that enveloped the left side of his face. “There’s always a choice.”

“We’re not the Government,” Koala added. “You’re not our prisoners. But your expertise  _ is  _ invaluable, and your proximity to Vegapunk’s research means—”

“ _ Vegapunk. _ Don’t make me laugh.” Viktor spat the name like it was a curse. “He thinks because he’s finished his little robot that we’re expendable, but he would be  _ nothing  _ without us.”

A burning glare from Sabo cut him off before he could say more. Koala put a calming hand on his arm. “So you’re familiar with Vegapunk’s work on Bartholomew Kuma?” she asked. 

Jules let out a strangled noise that sounded rather like a dying cat. Viktor ignored him, his gaze fixed unflinchingly at the two Revolutionaries. “If not for me, PX-0 never would have become the monster he is today.”

“Viktor!” Thresa exclaimed, scandalized, before pushing herself between her former subordinate and a now-furious Sabo. “We all worked on the Pacifica Project. It would be stupid to deny it. The genesis of it came from Vegapunk. Our job was to replicate his genius on a mass scale. His work on the Warlord was shut off from everyone, but with the right resources we can give the Revolution Pacificas of your own. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“We’ve been associated with the project since the beginning,” Ian said, having finally overcome his terror to regain a little of his former gravitas. Stroking his mustache, he added, “Twenty years we’ve spent testing and perfecting various methods of cybernetic enhancement.”

“And it’s not just Pacificas,” Theresa said, gaining momentum as she spoke. “My husband designed former Admiral Zephyr’s Buster Smasher prosthetic, which integrated complex pneumatic structures with advances in neural integration that allowed for limb maneuverability that had never been seen before.”

“There are other secrets as well. We can tell you how the marines travel across the Calm Belts, aid in crafting sea stone weapons...And we’re not alone,” Ian said, puffing his chest slightly. “Many of our colleagues are willing to join your cause, it would be simplicity itself to convince…” His voice trailed into a rusty croak as Sabo raised a hand for silence. 

“Look, that’s great and all, but what I want to know is, can you undo it?”

“Undo what?” 

“The robots,” Sabo said impatiently. “Can you turn them back into people?”

Theresa and Ian looked at each other confusedly, and for the first time Jules set down his book. 

“Most of the Pacificas were never human,” Theresa said. “PX-0 was the first—and as far as I know  _ only _ —subject whose cranial transplant was successful. The human brain is the most advanced computer in existence, and Vegapunk is the only person who has come close in replicating its nuance. What you deem  _ humanity _ is merely an impossibly complex interconnection of chemical reactions controlling organic functions, a machine made of flesh and bone. Call it humanity, or a soul...it’s nothing more than a construct invented by our ancestors to explain what they didn’t understand. It isn’t real, it doesn’t  _ exist _ .”

“But it can be recreated.”

Viktor slithered out of the darkness, his voice soft and sibilant. The tails of his coat trailed behind him like the cloak of a gothic lord. He paused to adjust his glasses. “While Vegapunk was busy destroying the mind, I’ve spent years studying how to develop it. By necessity the Pacifica’s mental capabilities are limited. They cannot think, or learn, or grow. I’ve never been satisfied with the limitations the Government has placed on us to create only weapons. None of us in this room were, and that’s why we were deemed expendable.”

He paused for effect, lips curling as Theresa and Ian huddled near one another and Jules looked down at a spot on the floor. “I wanted to build a machine capable of true emotion. We can make a robot that runs and jumps better than any person, We’ve developed weapons that can raze entire fleets. But we’ve yet to develop an organic personality.”

“So your research was unsuccessful, then?” Sabo asked. 

“My research was _unfinished_ ,” Viktor spat. “The World Government has no use for a robot that can think. After all, what would happen should it decide it deserved a more worthy master?” He shook his head. “No, it was too dangerous. But the seeds are there. I just need to retrieve it. That’s why I called for you.”

“You lied,” Sabo said, his eyes narrowing. “You said you could bring Kuma back.”

“I said what I needed to to ensure your cooperation,” Viktor said. 

There was a beat of icy silence. “But there _is_ hope,” Koala said carefully, looking at each of the scientists in turn. “With enough time, you think you could undo whatever Vegapunk did.”

“Bring me my research, and I’ll show you what I’m capable of,” Viktor said. 

“Where is it?” Sabo asked. “Why didn’t you take it with you?”

Viktor looked down at Sabo as if he were an idiot. “Do you think I left it behind willingly? It would have been impossible for me to smuggle it out, especially after being terminated.”

“Viktor, stop. This is madness,” Theresa pleaded. “It was slated for destruction years ago; your meddling was the only thing that kept it from the Scrapyard where it belonged.”

“They wouldn’t dare!” Viktor shouted. “Twenty years I’ve spent perfecting her—”

“Wait, wait,  _ wait _ ,” Koala said. “ _ Her? _ Is this thing a robot or a person?”

With visible effort Viktor regained control of himself. Theresa and Ian shifted uneasily as he took his glasses off to wipe the sweat away from his face, inching as close together as they could. From his couch Jules looked like he wished that the ground would swallow him whole.

Breathing heavily, Viktor turned his attention back to Sabo. His eyes were the pale grey of a newly dead fish, red-rimmed and half-mad. “Does it matter? She came to us as a child after suffering horrific injuries, would have  _ died  _ if not for our intervention. And she’ll die again if the Government has their way.”

He paced to the apartment’s one window, inches away from where Robin hid. Grasping the bars of his prison he stared out as if the glass had not been painted over. As if he could see the rising skyline in the distance. 

“They keep her hidden under the dome. Her, and countless others like her, to be tested and destroyed as they see fit. Do you see?” he said, whirling back toward the Revolutionaries. “Do you see why the Government doesn’t want them to think? To  _ feel? _ Can you freedom fighters let such an injustice stand?”

“Seems to me that you all let it stand for the last twenty years,” Sabo said softly. The hands at his sides clenched, not into fists, but into the familiar claws of his martial art. Koala noticed with alarm, but before she could do anything, he had pulled away and stalked to the door. 

“What’s her name?” Koala asked. 

“You’ll find her in the records under WB-209,” Theresa said wearily. “But everybody called her Null.”

“Wait, what about us?” Ian said. “You can’t just leave us here!”

Sabo snorted. “Yeah, actually, I can.”

The sound of the door slamming behind him cut off any further argument that they might have made, the force of it knocking a precariously-placed bottle off the edge of an overturned crate, causing it to shatter on the floor. 

The scientists didn’t move, didn’t hardly seem to breathe. In the distance Robin could hear the rumbling of the Scrapyard nightlife, but inside the tiny apartment there was perfect, terrible silence. 

Seconds stretched like cold molasses, until finally Theresa looked at Viktor and said, 

“I hate you so much.” 


End file.
